


Midnight Song

by kibasniper



Category: Psychonauts
Genre: Bears, Friendship, Gen, Music, Nightmares, Post-Canon, Resentment, Slice of Life, elka and jt are mentioned, implied chops/jt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-13
Updated: 2018-02-13
Packaged: 2019-03-18 00:22:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13670400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kibasniper/pseuds/kibasniper
Summary: Chops wakes up from a nightmare in time to see Mikhail leaving the cabin.





	Midnight Song

Faint footsteps jarred him from his dogged slumber. Chops’ eyes shot open, his head jostling against his pillow. The nightmare lingered from his mind in flashing blips when he closed his eyes, but as he caught sight of a shadow lurking across the boy’s cabin, his thoughts numbed. Chops remained still, his left hand gripping the cotton sheet. His cautious gaze scrutinized the darkness.

The tepid steps continued, and peering towards the open light coming from the entrance, Chops watched Mikhail adjust his strapping hat. Mikhail glanced over his shoulder, and Chops swallowed, keeping his head pressed rather stiffly against his uncomfortable pillow. Considering he was on the lower bunk, JT’s upper bunk protected him from Mikhail’s sweeping stare. Hearing Mikhail’s footsteps recede onto the grass, Chops sighed and relaxed.

Chops sat upright and thumbed the sleep from his eyes. Fleeting reminders of his nightmare plagued his mind. The carefully calculated words from the prissy showpony hissed in his head. The concurrent resentment from Elka’s cruelty plagued his thoughts during his rest. He wondered if Elka would continue with her antagonism even after JT curtly ended their relationship based on distrust and manipulation. He knew Elka was the type of girl who played up her cunning through outward gestures of supposed kindness and private snarls of painful vengeance.

He was not the kind of person who hated another so easily. Chops knew holding onto a grudge was bad for his health or at least, Phoebe would have remarked such a sentiment during band practice. Chops squeezed his palms together, linking his fingers and watching his knuckles brightly burn. Her threats raced miles around his mind. Even though JT’s miserable relationship with her ended, Chops wondered if Elka would still try something.

Perhaps she would beg JT to take her back the millisecond Nils flirted with another girl. Anyone with eyes at Whispering Rock knew Elka and Nils’ tumultuous relationship was a prime source for endless drama. How Elka flounced to anyone who would listen to her troubles was how she swept JT around her finger. JT was too kind and trusting, but Chops noted the dourness twinging his words and the barrier he raised whenever the subject of the “fast-talkin’ filly” was touched upon fueled Chops’ indignation.

The times Elka dared to callously, casually threaten him still stunned him when Chops pondered the situation. She easily spewed malicious words in a honeyed tone. Telling him to sink into his cave or promising to make his life much worse jarred and infuriated him. The rancor she sibilated tainted his summer camp memories much more than when his brain was stolen.

Sighing, Chops swung his legs off his cot and stood up. He arched his back, cracked it, and decided to step outside. His mind was too preoccupied with malice and wariness to sleep. Gandering at the top bunk, he found JT’s hat slipping off the bunk’s edge and quietly pushed it closer to his friend’s pillow. He watched JT curl around his hat, smacking his lips in his sleep, and such a serene expression warmed Chops’ heart. Clutching his acoustic guitar from underneath his bunk, Chops ventured into the cabin area.

Leaving brought him out to the humid night. The fireflies danced around in the sky and aimlessly flew. A few tittering lizards and squirrels scampered across the tall grass. Chops wiped his brow free of budding sweat and trekked along the dirt path towards Oleander’s treehouse, carefully surveying his surroundings for predatory cougars. He was clothed in the night’s black velvet hues.

Creeping up to the treehouse, Chops hesitated near the top. Murmuring attacked his ears. Soft-spoken comforts addressed an unfamiliar name. A few lamps were on, sparkling through the night like signals. Chops straightened and gripped his guitar to his chest, taking the plunge into the classroom.

Chops’ mouth fell open. He fumbled for a greeting and settled for a wary wave, hitching his lips into a careful grin.

Mikhail lifted his head in blank recognition. He sat in one of the plentiful bean bag chairs crossing his legs, but the animal in Mikhail’s lap dumbfounded Chops. Mikhail played with the round creature’s soft fur, and the failingly fearsome crooning of the critter echoed.

“Was not expecting a guest,” Mikhail said as Chops tiptoed inside like a ghost.

“I couldn’t sleep. So, uh, what’s with…” Chops gestured at the animal.

Mikhail tilted his head, hat leaning with him and remaining perfectly still on his head. His eyes illuminated with joy as Chops fully made out that the creature was none other than a bear cub. The cub’s pudgy, spherical nose sniffed the air, and it pawed Mikhail’s camp shirt with sharp claws. The cub leaned against Mikhail like a little sibling clinging to their brother. Mikhail’s sturdy hand rubbed the cub’s back, lightly scratching around the cub’s neck.

“This is Bonya. She is restless cub and has trouble sleeping. So, I meet her around this time to urge her to sleep,” Mikhail explained, and Chops hummed, tilting his head in understanding. “Is rare to see you up.”

“Oh, yeah. I wasn’t really feeling like sleeping,” Chops said, breaking eye contact with Mikhail.

Mikhail observed him before situating his gaze on Chops’ guitar. “Came to play?”

“That was the plan, but I don’t wanna bother you or your bear,” Chops replied, but Mikhail shook his head.

“Is fine. Play if you wish.”

Chops shrugged. Making himself comfortable on an adjacent bean bag. He tuned his guitar, glancing over at Bonya who lightly nipped at Mikhail’s shirt from the lack of attention. Mikhail hummed at the restive cub, hugging her. Chops peered at them and began his private show.

The gentle strumming elicited Bonya’s immediate attention. Chops lowered his head, slowly bobbing along to the beat of his music. He ran his fingers down the neck and strings. The harmonic tune mingled with the cabin area’s beat. Fluttering squeaks from woodland varmints intertwined with Chops’ melodic strumming. A few fireflies swirled around him as if entranced by his melody.

Losing himself in the music, Chops felt his thoughts melt away. His fears and worries drifted into the songful wind. Immersing himself in gentle acoustic sounds soothed his concerns and wrath. If JT were awake, they would have been making musical memories together, but he was satisfied with his privacy.

Mikhail listened, transfixed with the song. He leaned back into his bean bag, and Bonya nestled against his neck. She curled against Mikhail, opening her mouth in a great, silent yawn. Mikhail watched her eyes flutter, and he stroked her back as the tunes lulled her to sleep.

Chops rocked himself from side to side only for a sudden snort to drag him out of his melody. He expected Bobby to suddenly be present and insult him, but it was Bonya. She snored, kicking her leg in the throes of slumber. Chops hesitated, resting his thumb on the strings as Mikhail smiled.

“Much easier to put her to sleep that way. Thank you,” Mikhail said, standing up. He carried Bonya like a baby and walked past Chops, adding, “You play well. Very well. Was nice listening to you.”

“Thanks. Maybe you can come around with Bonya when JT and I play together, eh?” Chops offered, and Mikhail nodded, making his way down the spiral pathway.

Chops lingered in the treehouse. He watched Mikhail’s form vanish along the bridge towards the forest. He brushed his fingers along the guitar, smiling at nothing. His mind was at ease, and he slowly began to play once again for the audience of himself and the conciliating night.


End file.
